


For Want of Knowledge

by stepOnMeZenos



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Au Ra Xaela Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Imperialism, M/M, Prince Zenos yae Galvus, Racism, ZenoHika Week Winter 2021 (Final Fantasy XIV), Zenos yae Galvus Being an Asshole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 00:55:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29198721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stepOnMeZenos/pseuds/stepOnMeZenos
Summary: All Sorkhatu wanted was to make use of his scholarship and study at the royal university of Garlemald.Instead, he ran headfirst into the imperial crown prince the moment he set foot into the capital.ZenoHika Week Winter 2021, prompt: Steampunk AU
Relationships: Zenos yae Galvus/Warrior of Light
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	For Want of Knowledge

**Author's Note:**

> This ended up being less steampunk that I had in mind, but oh well.

The steam-powered carriage screeched to a halt in front of Sorkhatu. Finally. He'd been trying to hail one for nearly half an hour now, but one look at him and the carriage had gone off. The message was clear. _Savages not welcome_ , as the sign on a shop across the street helpfully pointed out. 

Sorkhatu sighed. 

He'd expected this kind of treatment upon coming to Garlemald, of course he had. It wasn't as if he'd never encountered Garleans back home in the Azim Steppe. Clad in impeccable suits (and incessantly complaining over the climate, as if they hadn't chosen to wear something so ill-suited for it), they walked about the place as if they owned it, and frankly that might as well have been the truth, all things considered. 

No, he hadn't thought he'd be treated _well_ here in Garlemald. He could put on one of their suits and wear one of those uncomfortable tophats, but he couldn't hide his horns and scales—couldn't hide that he was, in the end, one of the people these Garleans considered savages, and beneath them. 

Standing in the drizzle for half an hour while carriage after carriage breezed past him, blowing foul-smelling steam into his face, had not been what he had expected either, though. 

He lifted his suitcases and climbed into the carriage. “I need a ride to—“ he looked at the address card in his hand, “—Paddington Heights, and then to the royal university...“ He had luggage to unload and he couldn't just bring all of it with himself to the university. The room he'd rented from afar would have to come first. 

The driver grunted an affirmation and drove the carriage out into the streets again. Sorkhatu shifted in his seat. The vibrations of the engine felt uncomfortable. The jolts whenever the carriage drove over a bump in the road he could deal with, it wasn't much worse than riding a horse, but the vibrations, coupled with the strange smell of the steam engine? He didn't like it, he decided. 

It was the smallest price to pay for an imperial education, though. 

He looked out of the grimy windows as the houses of Garlemald rolled past him. Sprawling villas, to him, with wide windows and colourful paint. If what he knew about the city was accurate this wasn't even a particularly wealthy area; the true upper crust dwelled elsewhere. What exactly did they need houses this big for? It seemed superfluous. 

Then again, maybe that was just him being a _savage_ again. 

Gradually, the buildings grew smaller and ruddier, the streets less clean. Refuse gathered in some of the corners that even the rain couldn't wash away. The clothing of the few people going about their business began looking more like what Sorkhatu wore; respectable, perhaps, but by no means fancy. He could not afford something more refined on his stipend. 

It didn't bother him personally. He was fine wearing practical clothing; he would have been even more fine if he'd just been able to wear his traditional Xaela clothes, but that would have gotten him thrown out of university before he could even start. 

“Where to in Paddington Heights?“ the driver asked. 

Sorkhatu read the full address of his paper. A university official had helped him get in contact with his landlord and rent the room he'd be living in for the next three years, if all went according to plan. The landlord had seemed amicable enough during their letter correspondence… time would tell if he was in person as well. 

The carriage ground to a halt with a horn-splitting screech. Sorkhatu just barely managed to catch his briefcase before it collided with the window. “What happened?“ he asked. 

No answer. 

Sorkhatu put the briefcase down and peered out of the windshield. Someone stood in the middle of the road. His long blonde hair fluttered like a banner in the rainy wind, seemingly shining even in this gloomy weather. It looked out of place in the dingy street, much like the fine parade uniform he wore. 

He didn't look like he had any intention of getting out of the street anytime soon, standing still and looking heavensward as he was. 

“Who is that?“ Sorkhatu asked. “Do you know?“ 

“You don't _know_?“

“How would I? I only just arrived.“ Judging by the stranger's clothing and his driver's reaction, clearly this was someone rich and famous in Garlemald, but while he had studied what the upper class was like in preparation of coming here, he could hardly be expected to recognise all of them on sight. 

As if he had heard, the man standing in the street abruptly turned around to them and stalked towards the carriage. There was no other way to describe his gait. The determination that laced each of his steps as he inevitably came closer and closer was akin to that of a predator with prey in sight. 

The driver made the tiniest frightened noise. Sorkhatu glanced at him. A bead of sweat dripped down from his forehead, even though the air inside the carriage was more chilly than anything. 

Just who was that man that he inspired such fear without even having done anything? 

Without listening to the driver's protests, Sorkhatu opened the door and stepped back out into the rain to meet him. What was the point in waiting inside the carriage? The doors didn't lock. 

“You,“ the man drawled as he came to a stop just a few steps away from Sorkhatu. “You are a savage, come from distant lands. I saw you through the windshield.“ 

He was _tall._

Sorkhatu hadn't quite noticed it from inside the carriage, but now that they faced each other, it was clear just how much this man towered over him. But then, so did most Xaela men. He was used to it. 

The ethereal beauty he exuded was harder to deal with. Under other circumstances, Sorkhatu would have enjoyed playing with that golden hair, would have liked to be the target of those smoldering eyes... Like other Buduga, he held great appreciation for the male body, and this one was a prime specimen indeed. Under _these_ circumstances, though, he wanted nothing more than to walk away and go about his business undisturbed.

“I'm a Xaela,“ he answered. He'd have to endure being called a savage. He would not lower himself to calling _himself_ that. “From the Azim Steppe.“ 

“The Azim Steppe… nomads living in tents as they follow their sheep herds around, is that it? Are you a shepherd, savage?“

“I have been,“ Sorkhatu said. All Xaela children had, even the ones who had ended up doing something else with their lives. It was normal. Everyone had to pitch in, and watching sheep was something even a child could do. Why speak of it with such derision? 

Oh, right. The obvious reason.

“How very disappointing.“ The stranger sighed. “Here I chanced upon a savage, and he turns out to be a _shepherd_ , of all things. Why can I not find anyone _interesting_ in this accursed city?“

“You don't know much about life on the steppe, do you?“ 

“What interest should I have in a group of shepherds living in tents?“

“They're called _gers_ ,“ Sorkhatu said, “and if you had bothered educating yourself, you would have known that having herded sheep says nothing about what else a person might have done.“

For some reason, that made the stranger laugh. “Oh, you _do_ have some fire in you, then. I see—not merely a shepherd, are you? What are you instead?“ He circled Sorkhatu, never taking his eyes off of him. Sorkhatu had the distinct impression of a large cat playing with its prey. 

By now, a small crowd had amassed, though they all seemed to hide away in alleyways instead of openly surrounding them. Perhaps that was related to the fear his driver had displayed. Just who was this man? 

“If you're going to ask me these questions, perhaps you should introduce yourself first.“ 

“You do not know?“

Again with that question. “I don't,“ Sorkhatu said, “on account of having arrived in this _illustrious_ city only a few hours ago. Now will you give me your name?“ The snippiness was unwise, he knew that. It had been difficult to secure his scholarship in the first place, and squandering it on getting sassy with an important official was the last thing he wanted. It was difficult to contain with this man, however. Something about the way he talked all but invited it.

“An answer only a savage would give!“ Despite the harsh words, the stranger seemed anything but annoyed, however. He grinned openly, mirth tinging his voice. “I am Zenos yae Galvus.“ 

_Oh._

That was a name Sorkhatu was immediately familiar with, from his preparatory studies. 

The man standing in front of him was the crown prince of the Garlean Empire.

The room Zenos had dragged him off to was magnificent, if one was inclined to consider excessive… _excess_ such. The furniture was _gilded_. 

“So tell me, savage,“ Zenos said, waving his teacup around with little regard to the tea that sloshed onto the furniture, “what _is_ the Azim Steppe like, if I am so mistaken about it?“ 

Sorkhatu held in his grimace. A few hours in Garlemald and he had already gotten himself into this huge mess. So much for unloading his belongings in his rooms and then going to his appointment at the university. He had time before then, but if this Zenos kept him for much longer he would miss it, and then what? Would they accept _'the crown prince wouldn't take no for an answer and demanded my presence'_ as an excuse? 

And was Zenos really going to keep calling him savage without so much as asking for his name? Normally Sorkhatu would take the initiative and introduce himself, but, well… this man had nigh unlimited power in Garlemald. Best to leave him do as he pleased for now. 

“Could you narrow that question down at all, er, Your Highness?“ The address felt awkward on his tongue. Zenos didn't act like a prince at all, but that _was_ the way to address a member of the royal family, according to the etiquette guides Sorkhatu had consulted. 

However, rather than being pleased with being addressed properly, Zenos merely scowled. “Now you simper? How deeply disappointing. I had thought you possessed more courage than that—does it _intimidate_ you to be in my presence, now that you know who I am?“

Why _wouldn't_ it? Zenos had been a random stranger back then. Now he was someone who could ruin his life with just a word. He didn't seem like the kind of person to be amenable to such reasoning, however. Probably had to do with living a consequence-free life… 

“I would prefer,“ he said, choosing his words carefully, “not to run afoul of Garlemald's most influential the day I first set foot into the city.“ Should he mention the scholarship he couldn't afford to lose? Or would Zenos use that as ammunition? 

“So you are nothing more than a bootlicker too. Pity. I had hopes for you when you faced me so brazenly.“ Zenos rose and walked over to the large window, which overlooked the finer part of the city. “As boring as the rest of them, in the end...“ 

“ _Excuse_ me for not wanting to see all the hard work I did to even get this far go up in flames because you decided I was too impolite.“ Even as he said it, Sorkhatu cringed. Confound it. Exactly the kind of thing he hadn't wanted to say, but there was something about Zenos that made him want to throw his words back at his stupid face. A certain temper had been beneficial in the steppe. It would not be so here. 

“There you are,“ Zenos said, sounding insufferably smug. “You do have the attitude, even if you try to repress it.“

“It is generally advised _not_ to have an attitude towards the imperial crown prince.“ Sorkhatu squinted at him. “And yet you want me to. Why?“ 

Zenos strode back to the sofa and leaned over Sorkhatu. “Why, you ask? Whyever _not_? I have no patience for simpering fools lining up to lick my boots. So tell me, what are you, savage? A shepherd joining the ranks of the other worthless bootlickers, or a hunter hiding his fire?“ 

“I,“ Sorkhatu said, “am a hunter turned scholar who would like to go about his scholarship without any further issues, and who would very much prefer _not_ being called a savage.“ At some point, it was fine to stop mincing his words, right? He'd already blown up at Zenos once, with seemingly positive effects. What did it matter if he did it again?

“'Tis a compliment.“ 

The worst part of that sentence was that Zenos sounded entirely sincere. Sorkhatu sighed. “It's really not, and I struggle to understand why you would think it is.“ 

“Is it not obvious? Savagery is the only trait that truly matters. If I held any interest in the dullards populating this city it might be a different matter, but rest assured, savage: 'Tis praise to be called that.“

“And I assume you have never been called such before.“ Sorkhatu shook his head. “ _You_ rest assured that whatever strange conceptions you have about the word, it very much is an insult in everyone else's eyes.“

Zenos pursed his lips, as if thinking about his words. What a bizarre person. Was he really the heir to the empire? He didn't act the part at all. Wandering the streets on his own in the rain, bringing a Xaela back to the palace? Sorkhatu hadn't missed the bewildered looks the palace guards had given him. 

“What were you doing back there in the street anyroad?“ he asked. Discussing the nature of savage as a slur was likely wasted on him. 

“I was bored. And is it not fortunate that I went for an outing? I would not have met you if I had not.“ 

“A fortune that is going to end up with me missing a crucial appointment at the university if you don't let me go now,“ Sorkhatu said, glancing at the grandfather clock sitting in a corner of the room. He could still make it, at least if he didn't have to wait another half hour for a ride… but only if Zenos stopped rambling now. 

“What need have you to sit a dusty old university? Come now, there are better things to spend time with...“

“Your _Highness_ ,“ Sorkhatu said with as much sarcasm as he could manage. “I have worked for two years to obtain my scholarship, and it is so very easy to lose the opportunity if my supervisors grow unhappy with my work. Pray tell what you think will happen if I am late to my very first appointment, or miss it entirely.“ 

Naturally, that did not give Zenos pause in the slightest. “You would willingly trade your nomadic life for that of a scholar? Why?“

“As it turns out, the empire's capital still offers the most comprehensive education.“ The Xaela had their own wisdom—in many cases exceeding that of the empire, in fact—but when it came to the hard natural sciences, he would not be able to learn what he wanted elsewhere. Garlemald didn't lend out their finest professors to the provinces. Not that their knowledge made up for everything the empire had done and continued to do, but that was something best left unsaid, even if Zenos seemed disinclined to follow his people's nationalism. 

“I suppose,“ Zenos said, frowning, “but...“

“No buts.“ Sorkhatu stood up and headed for the door. “I really must get going. I need time to find a carriage...“

Zenos surprisingly did not bar his path. No, he did something far more startling.

He started following Sorkhatu. 

“We will take mine, with my personal chauffeur,“ he said. “It will be faster that way.“

Any number of responses flashed through Sorkhatu's head. “'We'?“ was the one he ended up selecting. 

“I am unwilling to let you go just yet, sava… what is your name?“

“Does it only now occur to you to ask?“ Nhaama, what a man. Sorkhatu opened the chamber door and stepped out into the austere hallway. It was a difference like night and day, which made him wonder who had decorated the room so lavishly—but that wasn't his concern, in the end. “I am Sorkhatu Buduga, but don't change the subject. What do you mean by 'we'?“

He had an inkling he knew the answer, unfortunately. 

“I shall accompany to the university, of course. Now that I have finally found someone potentially worth showing interest in, whyever would I simply let you walk away?“ 

Sorkhatu briefly closed his eyes. It was his first day in the empire's heartlands, after a long uncomfortable ride in a cargo airship. His goal had been to check into his room without any issues, then go to the university without anyone raising a fuss, have his orientation meeting and settle his schedule. He had _not_ wanted to make any waves. It tended to be unwise to do that in the presence of imperials. 

Now he would roll up to the university in the crown prince's own carriage, _accompanied_ by the crown prince. It would immediately paint a target on his back. 

“I don't suppose saying no will dissuade you,“ he said.

“Of course not.“ 

Sorkhatu stifled a sigh. What an 'interesting' few years this would turn out to be.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments appreciated.


End file.
